


wouldn't you want to tell it kinder?

by sicsempertyrannis



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, Reunion, Season/Series 01, Thomas Hamilton Lives, also i have two spotify playlists for them so comment if you want them, and i can't stop thinking about flinthamilton, i binge watched black sails in one week, kind of, not really - Freeform, they're so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:33:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sicsempertyrannis/pseuds/sicsempertyrannis
Summary: Set in season one, James takes his crew on one last hunt before the Urca de Lima to placate them. They board a merchant ship transporting sugar from a Savannah plantation and locked away in the captain's cabin, James finds the key to what he's been missing: Thomas Hamilton.Together, they work to find themselves once again, all while trying to save Nassau from itself and the tyranny of England.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, Miranda Barlow & Captain Flint | James McGraw & Thomas Hamilton, Miranda Barlow & Thomas Hamilton
Comments: 38
Kudos: 149





	1. if you could retell the tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is set before Richard Guthrie had the chance to betray Eleanor, meaning that James never had to go chase that ship and find Miranda's letter. Let's pretend that Gates told him to go on a short hunt to boost the men's spirits and James agreed.

Thomas Hamilton never thought he would get to be on the sea again once he had been transferred to the Savannah plantation, convinced that the earthen scents had embedded themselves in his skin. When news of his brother’s death reached the colonies he had been saddened, but he had forced himself to dismiss it in favor of the feeling of hardened callouses on his palms and the rhythmic pound of the shovels. But Oglethorpe was a man of honor, and as much as he liked to say that the men he owned “ceased to be,” that wasn’t how existence worked. Thomas Hamilton had spent long enough in Bedlam trying to remember who he was to know that men couldn’t just stop existing—ghosts loved to haunt far too much for that to happen.

It was a month later and here he was, standing on the deck breathing in the salty air as they sailed towards London for the funeral. Although he had lived on an island for the first part of his life, he never had much reason to go visit the water. If Thomas closed his eyes right now, he could imagine that the salt he smelled wasn’t from the water below but from pressing his nose into James’ hair after his three months away.

Thomas kept his eyes wide, unwilling to press that particular bruise underneath the glaring daylight; no, he’d indulge himself later in his cabins, although it would be much harder to pretend that the wetness on his face was anything but the sea. 

The cry of “Sails” is what startled him out of his stupor, causing him to wrench his head not to the horizon but to the screaming man right next to him whom he somehow had not noticed. Isolation had seeped into Thomas’ bones quietly but firmly, leaving him adrift in the world. He might not know anything about the sea, but he knew that sails meant nothing good. The feeling of apprehension was only amplified by the clamor of the sailors behind him as they began to prepare for the incoming ship.

“Sir,” the captain said, walking up to Thomas with intent. Once Thomas used to make it a point to learn everyone’s name but now they passed through his mind like the wind.

“Sir,” the captain said again, this time more forcefully. “We need to get you somewhere secure below deck, I’ll have one of my men bring you to my cabin.”

Thomas nodded mutely as he was led along by a man who quite clearly wanted to be doing anything else. He didn’t let himself think that he was being led to the captain’s quarters because he was more important than any other man on this ship, but because he was a rather expensive piece of cargo to replace.

The underbelly of this ship was cool and dark compared to what was above as the approaching ship sailed ever closer. The man leading him pulled out a pair of keys, opened the captain's cabin, then shoved Thomas in and locked the door behind him. Life had not provided much color for Thomas in the past decade, his once fanciful wardrobe turning into the rags of Bedlam to the bleached clothes he wore now. Gone was joy, enter practicality. For a moment Thomas let himself bask in the minor luxury of the captain’s quarters, with its plush-looking rug and chairs that gave no sign of age. There was even a chandelier, although its light was inconsequential compared to the sunlight streaming in through the massive windows. Before Thomas, the only thing was empty ocean.

The _Cythera_ , the cargo ship Thomas was currently on, had only been sailing towards England for a couple days now, with Thomas spending most of the time sleeping in his hammock or wandering like a ghost on deck. Thomas suspected that the only reason he had been able to leave the plantation was because the timeline for transporting the sugar to England squarely lined up with his brother’s funeral. So far, no word had been made as to giving him proper funeral garb, and he dreaded the idea of having to show up in this dirty white. How quickly one’s problems could change when faced with the past.

At that thought, the commotion above increased, taking on a distinct screaming quality. Thomas quickly moved from his perch in the doorway to one of the benches pressed against the wall, completely avoiding the captain’s chair looming in the middle. He situated himself facing the doorway with his back to the windows, allowing himself to drink in the change of scenery. Thomas glanced to make sure the door was locked securely, then rested his head against the wall behind him.

Thomas had never had any cause to be in a battle before, but judging by the sharp clang of metal on metal and thud of bodies penetrating the wood around him, he could tell he was in one now. Despite how being treated as cargo bothered his nerves, he was grateful that it ensured his current survival. He drew his legs up on the bench and settled in for a long day as the fighting waged on around him.

A pounding jerked him out of his stupor, and he turned his gaze back towards the door which was shaking quite violently on its hinges. Thomas hadn't quite fallen asleep, but whatever skirmish had happened was clearly over, and now it was time to face the winner.

“Yes?” Thomas said, voice cracking. He cleared his throat and tried again, overly aware of the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he spoke. “Yes?”

The knocking on the door quickly ceased and was replaced by murmuring between two voices. Thomas couldn’t make out anything they were saying but could hear how low and rough they sounded, unlike any of the cargo men. The accents were English but very much unlike his own; these men were Britons once, but now they were hardened pirates.

“Is there anyone else in there with you?” one of the voices called.

Thomas looked around at the empty room and weighed his options. “No, just me.”

“Are you going to let us in?” another voice said, different from the first.

“Are you going to give me a reason to?” Thomas countered. He rested his chin on his pulled-up knees, marveling at how quickly his voice could go back to normal. On the plantation, he had felt no reason to speak and now, without any visuals, he was being forced into it. For the first time in a decade, Thomas realized he held power.

Thomas tried to picture them in his head, knowing that seeing them as faceless assailants wouldn’t do him any good in whatever conversation ensued. The person who had spoken recently had sounded rough but young and naïve—or as naïve as a pirate could get. The man who had spoken first was obviously hardened by both time and experience, meaning that he would be the more dangerous opponent. Well then, he’d just call them the young man and the old man; it’s unlikely he’d have any reason to learn their names.

“We won’t kill you if you do,” the man said. Thomas snorted at that. He died the day Peter Ashe visited him in Bedlam, begging for forgiveness while trying to share his story. Mentally pushing away the memory away before more of it could surface, Thomas mustered up a response.

“And how can I know that you’ll be true to your word?” Thomas said, relying once again on questions to avoid having to answer. Obviously, these men wanted something in here, and Thomas would just have to find it before they could.

The pirates began bickering again as Thomas slid off his perch and crossed the floor towards the captain’s desk, relishing in the ability to move with no restraints, physical or otherwise. He bent over the desk and just as he was about to pry open one of the drawers, his ears caught the name Flint.

Ah, Flint. Thomas shut his eyes tight against the flood of memories that tried to pour in, all filled with the never-ending filth of Bedlam. It was only the slight rocking motion between his feet that reminded him that he was on the ocean, not trapped inside his mind. Thomas gave up the mental fight he had been partaking in the entire voyage, dimly allowing himself to hear Peter Ashe inform him of his lover’s death at the hands of feared pirate captain James Flint. 

Sometimes Thomas wishes that he could force the adjective former onto that word lover, but it would never stick. Whenever he thought of James, the sensation of simultaneously being too full and too empty overwhelmed him, leaving him flat on his back, lungs paralyzed and gasping for air. Thomas clutched the edge of the desk until his knuckles stood out like a string of pearls, pulling himself back into reality.

Whoever’s ship this had once been, it was now James Flint’s. Somehow, everything in Thomas’ life led back to Flint. The knocking on the door resumed, and Thomas used the noise to cover the sound of him wrenching the drawers open, revealing nothing but papers. Trying again, he pulled open the remaining drawers, the swollen wood creaking with his efforts. Empty rum bottles clanked against each other in the otherwise empty compartments.

“You do realize that isn’t going to work, right?” Thomas said as the knocking got ever-louder.

“People like to say that until it does,” the older man said.

How true he was. Once Thomas had tried to force the world to change with the same attitude. Thomas had so many “onces” he didn’t know what to do with them. All he knew now was that England would take root in everything it touched, keeping the status quo because it was comfortable, no matter who tried to say otherwise. When someone did try to say otherwise, Thomas served as a good warning.

“What is in here that is so valuable?” Thomas asked.

“The captain had his logs on him, said they would store the most important cargo in here in case of emergency. We’ve already found the sugar,” the younger man said.

The most important cargo. Thomas laughed grimly as he once again scanned the bare room and empty drawers. This mismatch of luxury and utility wouldn’t be anything of value to the pirates. Oglethorpe’s handsome fee was going to waste; what was supposed to protect him would now make his end.

“I am the only thing in here, gentleman,” Thomas told them, overly aware of his accent and posture as his past emerged once more. Just as they were faceless beings for him, so was he to them. To their ears, they were currently conversing with a prime subject for ransom. Nothing more valuable to a pirate captain than a defenseless English nobleman.

The men didn’t respond, instead now talking to a third figure that had arrived. The tones of their voices had quite clearly changed from annoyance to something tinged with respect. Much time had passed since they had taken this ship, as was evident by the light now slanting through the windows behind him. Their most profitable good had been locked away the whole time, likely spurring the attention of one feared pirate captain. A chill set in as Thomas realized who must now be on the other side of that door.

“What is the problem here?” the newcomer called through the door.

Thomas sank to his knees.

The world turned white and then came back into color around him, but the only thing he could truly sense was how the rug he had shoved his fingers into was much more uncomfortable than it looked. The voice on the other side of the door rang in his ears, the accent so familiar and unlike what Thomas was now used to, with weariness and anger clear in the tone. Thomas couldn’t breathe as he mouthed the words that were spoken to him because that was _not_ Captain Flint.

It was James McGraw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't tell, the younger man is Billy and the older man is Gates. Do not fear, I have planned out all five chapters of this completely and thoroughly so the only thing left to do is write them. I've already started chapter two, and considering how the only thing I think about is Black Sails, there's no way I can possibly forget about writing this fic. Please like and comment because I am an attention ***** and I would love praise for my writing.


	2. aphrodite stepped in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *listens to linger by the cranberries on repeat throughout the entire writing and editing process*

Back in London, Thomas had prided himself on being a man who could make anything understandable, even to those who had never held a quill in their lives. Now, here on this rocking ship, he seemed to have completely lost that ability. There was a ghost talking to him, but what truly made a ghost? It was something dead that pretended to be alive, and it was currently mere meters away from him.

The door was no longer silent, and Thomas could feel the presence of the man on the other side of it, felt him hang heavy in the air. If Thomas had a knife, he could slice the atmosphere like butter. The ringing in his ears toned down enough for him to hear the voice, something Thomas thought he would never be able to do again. His memories had come to life. It was only the rage in James’ voice that energized Thomas enough to rise because that anger had only ever been directed at Thomas in his worst nightmares, and this was not one of those.

Time couldn’t move fast enough as Thomas summoned the will to cross the length of the cabin towards the door, feeling all the while like he had been tasked with crossing the great ocean on foot. Pausing only when his hand was on the doorknob, Thomas allowed air to enter his lungs once more. The wood of the door was so close to his face, brown and lifeless as it stared back at him. He opened the door.

Something had clearly been passing through James’ lips, but it choked off the moment he saw who was in front of him. Thomas just stared and allowed himself to memorize James’ face, realizing that he had almost forgotten exactly how many freckles the man had. His hair was redder than Prometheus’ fire, his eyes green like Poseidon. Before him was a dead man walking, and Thomas knew he would let the world burn before it was taken from him. Already Thomas had fallen from grace for James McGraw, and he would gladly do it again.

Again! Again again again. Never before had a word been so sweet on his tongue, except when he breathed, “James.”

“Thomas,” James responded, wrenching it from his mouth like it was a prayer to all things divine. Against the freckles, James’ face was pale, much paler than it should be for a man who had spent his life on the sea. Thomas guessed that that was what happened when confronted with the unprecedented. In all the tales they had read together long ago, when lovers were separated by death, it was to be understood that they would only meet again in the next life. Here were James and Thomas, like Adam and Eve taking their first steps on Earth.

From a well deep inside him, Thomas drew the power to glance behind James, where a young man taller than even he and an older short man were staring at the two, mouths agape. For two men expecting a proper English lord, Thomas’ presence in the cabin was nothing close to what they expected.

“Billy, Gates,” James said in a shaky voice. “Leave us.”

“But what about—“ the tall man began before he was hushed by the shorter one.

“Aye captain,” the older one said. The two retreated back up into the stairwell, leaving James and Thomas alone.

Thomas took one step back without tearing his eyes away from James, and James entered the captain’s cabin, shutting and locking the door behind him. Before James could say another word, Thomas leapt forward and clutched James tight to his chest, drowning himself once more in James’ hair. Salt, he still smelled like salt.

Emotions weren’t allowed in Thomas’ life since Bedlam, there was simply no time for them. No one to understand Thomas’ exact plight and why even the memory of the sea felt like being stabbed with a hot poker. When he felt like indulging he’d let himself cry but only under the cool cover of night where he knew he’d be safe in the dark. Here, in the blinding sunshine, Thomas could fill the tears build up again, but he pushed them down in favor of burying himself further in James’ shoulder.

After an eternity Thomas pulled back, studying his face up close as he raised his right hand to cup James' cheek. The last time he had seen James he had had a beard, but this one was much more unkempt than the navy-permitted one. James’ hair was much shorter too, kept pulled back even though he barely had enough to do so. Thomas was grateful he had been allowed to shave for his brother’s funeral because it meant he could relish in the feeling of skin on skin when he leaned in to kiss James.

Chapped lips had never felt this holy, and a laugh bubbled out of him at the thought. Thomas was sure he must sound near-mad but he couldn’t care and neither did James, because the only thing he asked was, “How?”

“I think,” Thomas said slowly, tasting each word before they left his mouth. “That we have both been lied to.”

James laughed at that, a bright and joyous sound on this ship. Thomas had no idea how he had ever taken pleasure in this captain’s cabin with its garish rug and shoddily built furniture. The most beautiful object on this ship was currently in Thomas’ arms.

Thomas opened his mouth to try and say something, anything to James but nothing came out. Ten years were riding on his every word, a decade of thoughts left unsaid. How was he supposed to heave his heart into his mouth in a moment like this? Even falling back on his usual repertoire of quotes and sayings did nothing for what he wanted to convey to James. Thomas had spent every moment of his life since London loving James because it was the only thing he knew how to do, and in doing so he had created his own untranslatable language.

Hands mirrored his own as James reached up to caress Thomas’ cheek and Thomas closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, feeling how warm and steady it was on his skin. Before, James had had quite a few callouses and scars from his time in the navy, but those were nothing compared to how hardened his hands were now. Thomas knew James must be feeling the same because he was no longer the man whose only callouses were from writing; Thomas’ tool of choice in years past has been a shovel more often than it had been a quill.

“I can’t believe I rendered the great Thomas Hamilton speechless,” James said to him, moving his hand from Thomas' face to his shoulders.

“My love, you were always the only one who could do so,” Thomas responded. “But I still have so much to say to you.”

“And I to you, but not here.” In lieu of explanation, a crash resounded from just above them, followed by angry cursing and yelling. Thomas remembered that the man in his arms wasn’t just his beloved James but James Flint, pirate captain currently in the midst of seizing a ship. A man with true responsibilities, not just ones forced onto him.

Thomas started to pull back to allow James to do what he must, but James only clasped him tighter to the point where Thomas could feel his nails through his clothes.

“Thomas, make no mistake, I am never letting go of you again. First we must get you off this ship.”

Yes, the ship. Thomas was currently marked as its most valuable cargo, meaning that the men were likely frothing at the mouth waiting for him to emerge from this room. Fear couldn’t touch Thomas in this moment because the strength of the arms around him were as good as any man-made shield. Thomas nodded, and James reluctantly released his death grip on him, settling instead for resting his hand inches away from Thomas’. It would only take a breath to close the gap between them, and Thomas delighted in the fact that he could have those thoughts in the realm of the living, not just his wildest dreams.

The underbelly of the ship once frightened Thomas, resembling the dark halls of Bedlam where no sunlight could ever penetrate the misery. Now, Thomas took pleasure in the dark because it allowed him to brush his fingers against James’ before they placed themselves in the eyes of the crew.

Sunset on the sea was something that men raved about, claiming that the sight was comparable to angels descending from heaven. Looking at how the warm light turned James positively golden, Thomas could understand. For a moment, he just stood at the edge of the shadows, watching his lover transform into a god.

A pained scream tore Thomas’ head upwards, where he saw a man tied to the mast, face beaten bloody. Thomas realized that that man was once the captain, now nothing more than a lump of flesh the men wanted something from. James' face remained composed at the sight, but Thomas had always been able to read him like no other and saw the pain in his eyes. They kept moving through the crowd.

Members of James’ crew stood around the ship, joking with each other and hauling crates towards their own ship which nearly blocked the light with its size. Thomas could almost make out the words The Walrus written on the side, distantly recalling that that was the name of Captain Flint’s ship. Even as all the evidence hit him that James was not the same man he once knew, Thomas could still feel his soul calling out to him as like calls to like. No amount of time could make James unrecognizable.

When Thomas had to step over a body—or what resembled a body as its arms were torn off—the horror that James must have endured truly hit him. James and his crew were acting like this was a daily occurrence, not a symbol of the psychological scarring that war created on man. Even as the world tried to reduce Thomas to nothing, he clung to the idea that violence was not man’s natural state. His heart ached for James and he so desperately wanted to reach out to him but he couldn’t. Pirates may attest that they were far from England’s culture, but it showed up in the nastiest moments. Thomas wouldn’t risk it.

James and Thomas finally reached the edge of the ship, where the Walrus’ nets connected to the _Cythera._ He peered down into the chasm between the two ships, and realized how easy it would be to slip into the water and lose everything he had just found.

Sensing his fear, James crowded in close and helped Thomas across the gap. He pressed himself up against Thomas from behind with one hand on Thomas' elbow and the other on the small of his back. It was all Thomas could do to not stumble when James leaned in and whispered “Careful.” That man could send shivers up his spine like no other.

The Walrus was much emptier than the cargo ship, with most of the crew still stacking the sugar crates to prepare for transfer. Thomas knew that their peace wouldn’t last long and he found his pace quickening behind James, eager to reach their destination. When James opened the door and stepped in he turned back and looked at Thomas, face blank but analyzing Thomas’ reaction. Thomas entered the room, and felt that familiar ache invade his chest once again.

The library was the star of this room, shining grander than the carefully carved desk and lush rug in the center. Books of every color stared at Thomas from across the room and as he took in the size of the library, tears threatened to fall once more.

“What’s wrong?” James asked as he closed the door behind him. He moved to stand in front of Thomas, one hand on Thomas’ arm with a concerned look in his eyes.

“I haven’t seen a library like this in a long time,” Thomas choked out, looking back at it over James’ shoulder. Thomas hadn’t realized how much he had missed it, but before he had been preoccupied with mourning James and Miranda. _Miranda._

“Miranda, is she?” Thomas couldn’t bear to finish the sentence.

James nodded. “She’s fine, she’s back in her home on Nassau. She’s made a life for herself in the interior, teaching children the pianoforte.”

Thomas pressed his hand against his chest, feeling the thumping of his heart. Miranda and James were both alive, his last act towards them hadn’t been in vain. He didn’t know where he expected them to go when he cried out for his loves to flee, he just wanted them safe from the realm of his father. Never had he realized that they would go to Nassau, the very island that had begun his end.

Exhaustion crept up on Thomas and he shuffled towards the desk, sitting in the solitary chair on one side. James followed him and sat across from him, and Thomas realized that he had mistakenly sat in the captain’s chair. He began to rise but James waved him back down.

The sound of their breathing filled up the room as Thomas rested his head on the desk. Their quiet symphony was only broken when James took Thomas’ hand and pressed it to his lips, causing Thomas to lift his head back up.

“I can’t stay, the men will be wondering where I am,” James said.

“Can you stay for just a moment longer?”

James winced. “I’m kind of in the middle of a mutiny.”

That woke Thomas up. “A mutiny?” he said, leaning forward and sliding his hand towards himself.

“Almost. Billy and Gates and I are trying to push it down, those are the men you were talking to earlier. Don’t worry, they know to keep their mouths shut about us.”

Thomas had not been worrying about that, but now he was. Of course, he trusted James, but he was seeing all the ways his guard was up, and he feared the reasons why he had learned to do that.

“Why do the men want to mutiny?” Thomas asked, laying his hands back down on the middle of the desk. Gratefully, James grasped them like they were his lifeline.

“We’ve been hunting this ship, the Urca de Lima, only they didn't know that it until recently. We went on this voyage to find a cargo ship to tide them over before we set sail for the Urca.”

“Why are you searching for the Urca?” Everything James said only raised a thousand more questions and he found himself clutching James’ hands back, moments away from pleading for him to stay.

“My lord, I will answer everything later, but I must go.” At that, James reluctantly let go of Thomas’ hands and trudged towards the door, acting like if he stopped he would never be able to start again. Before James could fully exit the room, Thomas called out after him.

“I haven’t been a lord for a long time, James.”

James stilled, his hand on the doorway and back rod straight. The posture of a navy lieutenant, Thomas faintly recalled. James fingers tightened on the doorframe and he spoke without looking back. “We have a decade to make up, Thomas.” He left and shut the door tightly behind him, leaving Thomas alone staring at his absence.

A decade. Thomas hadn’t seen James in a decade. That fact set in as he sat alone in James’ cabin, surrounded by hints of everything James except for the man himself. In the time since they had last seen each other in his parlor, not only had Helen’s beauty launched a thousand ships, but Troy had fallen and Achilles had lost his life’s love. In the wake of Achilles’ grief, James and Thomas were able to find their way back to each other. Balance restored in the universe.

The lights weren’t lit in the room and as the sun sank farther below the horizon, visibility started to dwindle. Thomas realized that he wouldn’t have much longer to look at the library and he quickly rose out of the captain chair—James’ chair. He ran his fingers along the dark grain before crossing over to the library.

Now that he saw it up close, he could make out some of the titles James owned. A collected work of Shakespeare, Paradise Lost, Don Quixote. Thomas grabbed the copy of Don Quixote and thumbed through it before opening on a random page, momentarily lost when he realized the book was in the original Spanish. Not only that, but James had scrolled messy notes along the side.

Clutching the book against his chest, Thomas closed his eyes and breathed it in. The last time he had seen James, he had had a rudimentary grasp on Spanish, but nowhere near the level required to read this book, much less annotate it. There was so much space between who they were once and who they were now.

Thomas couldn’t let himself think like that, and he quickly shoved Don Quixote back on the shelf, reaching now for the collected works. Shakespeare had been Miranda’s favorite to read—although she often grumbled about the fate of his female characters—and Thomas wanted to feel the presence of his wife. He had loved Miranda very much, still did, but not the way people expected him to. James was the one who consumed him with a burning passion, even when his love for Miranda was steady.

As he pulled the book off the shelf it tumbled out of his shaky hands, landing on the floor with the front flap opened to the first page. There was James’ looping scrawl with a note dedicated to Miranda. _I’m sorry. I just miss him. —James_

For the second time that day, Thomas collapsed. He managed to brace himself with his arms so he didn’t fully fall, but with his head hung the words were staring back at him, challenging him. James had obviously taken the book and written the note to give to Miranda, he just hadn’t been able to return to Nassau to gift it to her yet. It echoed his own note to James he had written that he had so carefully composed, and he couldn’t help but see how James had tried to keep his memory alive in this simple action.

Being confronted with James’ grief sent Thomas spiraling, wanting to scream and scream until his voice was completely gone. But he couldn’t, still being forced to keep himself together to protect James, something he was unable to do before. Instead, Thomas did the one thing he hadn’t let himself truly do: he wept. Full sobs racketed through his body and shook his chest as he curled up on the ground, clutching James note to his body. Every moment from the day hit him and wouldn’t leave as he stayed there with nothing to distract from the pain of not only what had happened to James but what had happened to him. How their lives had been torn apart and stomped on because his father couldn’t stand to see his son happy. Dead as the man was, Thomas hated him.

Tears came until the sun had extinguished completely and the stars rose over the ocean. Completely sapped of energy, Thomas slipped into unconsciousness with his hand still resting gently over James’ signature.

_After the ship’s business had been taken care of, with all the sugar counted and men fed, James was finally able to slip away from the crew and back to his quarters. The whole day his mind had been with Thomas, even as he kept his façade up in front of the men to try and prevent the incoming mutiny, doing whatever it took to protect the man he would never lose again._

_It was only after the sun had long been gone that he stepped inside his cabin, heart giving a jerk when he realized he couldn’t see his lover. After a beat, he spotted the form resting on the floor in front of the library. James walked over to him, bending down to see the book he held and softly gasping when he saw the note. He returned the book back to the shelf and gingerly bent down to pick Thomas up, careful not to wake him._

_The hammock was in no way built for two grown men, especially one of Thomas’ size, but James still climbed in after laying Thomas down on it. He ended up in a position where Thomas was flat on his back and James was on his stomach, head resting on Thomas’ chest while he stared up at his lover’s face. James settled in for a long night of listening to Thomas’ heartbeat, taking joy in the fact that he could._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I keep updating this fic as I currently am where I post as soon as I finishing editing a chapter or should I start spreading out updates so they're consistent? I want to make it clear there will never be more than a week between chapters.


	3. arms as warm as the sun, but safer

Thomas had had many different types of beds in his lifetime. Large ornate ones that had almost no practicality. Stone floors with not even a blanket to sleep on. Thin mattresses on bunks with other sleeping men around him. Even the gentle swaying of a hammock on the ship wasn’t strange to him. What he hadn’t experienced in a very long time, although he had dreamed about it countlessly, was the warm pressure of another person on his chest. It pulled him out of his sleep and, certain he was still dreaming, he tightened his arms around the figure.

A headache rhythmically pounded away but he ignored it in favor of savoring this comfort. Someone had removed his boots while he slept, and the coolness of his socked feet was particularly stark when compared to the warmth on his upper body. There was no light pressing against his eyelids but Thomas opened his eyes anyways, giving them a moment to adjust to the darkness. A man’s head was resting on Thomas’ chest, the fiery hair tickling Thomas’ neck. _James._

Memories of the day before rushed back into Thomas’ mind and he lightly rubbed James’ back, feeling the heat emanating from his skin even through clothes. At Thomas’ motion James craned his head up and for a moment they just stared in each other’s eyes, drinking each other in.

“Hello,” Thomas said, voice hoarse from sleep.

“How’d you sleep?” James asked, clear and strong. Thomas’ brow furrowed when he realized James must have been feigning sleep this whole time.

“I should ask you the same.”

James shook his head and rested his head back down on Thomas chest, still looking at him. “I couldn’t, I was afraid of what would happen if I woke up.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Thomas said. He knew that in the past so many words had passed through his lips that he never got to fulfill but this promise, this one he would hold true.

Thomas felt more than heard the hum that passed through James’ lips as he shifted, lying more fully on Thomas’ chest to shift the angle at which they looked at each other. Before, both had to twist their necks to look but now they were nearly eye-to-eye. James almost completely covered Thomas’ body and while he was welcome, Thomas could feel that familiar revulsion to touch creeping in on him, a knee-jerk reaction he had developed for survival. He focused instead on James’ words to distract himself.

“I thought you were dead,” James said, his voice cracking on the last word. Thomas moved his hand to James’ hair that now hung loose, gently pulling out the knots.

“I thought _you_ were dead,” Thomas echoed. To think that all this time, James was less than a week’s journey away from Thomas, and yet their ignorance of the other had kept them apart.

“When we first arrived in Nassau, I got a case of the tropical fever, setting my plans back significantly. Miranda diligently took care of me even in her grief and in my fevered haze, I kept slipping out of reality and I thought it was you caressing my head. Even now, there were so many times when I’d wake up and I’d still be in London, and in the brightness of dawn I could’ve sworn you were sleeping behind me. Then the aches and pains of the day before would set in but I’d keep my eyes closed, determined to hold onto you for just a moment longer.”

As James spoke he reached out to touch Thomas’ face, lightly trailing his hand down to rest in the hollow of Thomas’ neck. Thomas’ eyes burned but he blinked the tears away, wanting to see the man he held without obstacles.

“Do you know how long until sunrise?” Thomas said,

“We have hours,” James said, understanding Thomas’ intentions.

“We should probably get in a position more suitable for talking,” Thomas said.

“Yes, we should.” Neither man moved.

It was not exhaustion that kept Thomas in place—he was wide awake—but a force stronger than gravity holding him down. Years of words he had been forced to keep inside weighed on him, countless thoughts he had mentally thrown into the ocean, hoping somehow, they’d reach James. A hammock on a pirate’s ship was not the ideal place to purge his sins, but Thomas needed to confess.

“I hated James Flint,” Thomas said, interrupting their silence. James stiffened on top of him and moved to push off but Thomas tightened his grip. “You don’t understand, Peter Ashe told me James Flint killed you.”

James snorted. “In a way he did.”

Thomas shook his head, glancing at the ceiling before turning his gaze back on James. “Don’t talk like that,” he insisted, pausing in his gentle strokes of James’ hair. “Our pasts are always there even as we turn our heads to the future. James Flint no more killed James McGraw than I killed Lord Thomas Hamilton.”

For a moment, they could both sense the return of that lord, how he would preach his ideals to the masses. His presence hung heavy between them, but it only enforced Thomas’ point.

“Thomas, the things—atrocities—I’ve committed,” James began before stopping himself. “Now is not the time for this.”

“When will it be?”

“When we aren’t on this damned ship.”

Thomas could understand that, the feeling that the walls have ears. He had never had to protect himself like James had—at least not in the same way—but after the betrayal that happened in his own home, he was overly aware of how others could perceive his every move.

“Who told you I was dead?” Thomas asked, resuming languidly running his hands through James’ hair. The man had once painstakingly brushed it to try and look every bit like a competent navy man, but now it was tangled from more than just ocean winds.

James swallowed and took a deep breath, preparing to explain before choking off. He cleared his throat, then began. “Peter Ashe sent Miranda and I a letter not long after I had become Captain James Flint. In the letter, he told us that you had killed yourself in Bedlam.”

On the word killed, he flicked his eyes down to Thomas’ neck, and he had a dark feeling that the letter had been much more graphic than that.

“So it was Peter that lied to both of us,” Thomas connected. “Do you think—“  
  


“Yes, yes I do,” James said.

A decade later, it stung. Peter had been one of his most-trusted friends, one of the only that would actually support his ideas outside of his salons. Thomas had made “know no shame” his way of viewing life, but he hadn’t been able to help his frustration at the fact that his fellow gentry would come to his house just to be able to say they had, afraid to publicly agree that he made sense. That attitude had only made it easier for his father—and Peter, Thomas added bitterly—to brand Thomas as a mad man to the world.

“Damn that man,” James said, voicing Thomas’ thoughts.

“In Savannah, I’d receive letters from him every so often, talking about his post in Charles Town. I hope his governor’s position was worth it.”

“He’s certainly using it to his heart’s content,” James said sharply, turning so that he was now laying on his back, draping Thomas’ arm across his stomach.

“What does that mean?” Thomas asked. James might not want to answer all of Thomas’ questions, but that wouldn’t prevent him from asking.

“He’s the fiercest pirate slayer in the New World, been that way for years now.”

“What triggered it?” When Thomas had known him, it at least seemed like Peter understood his values, although Thomas now knew that that man was a better actor than he looked. Underestimating Peter had scarred Thomas, in ways that blossomed now at James’ weight on his chest.

“You know I can’t answer everything while we’re still here,” James said. Thomas was almost grateful for his avoidance because as time passed, he could feel his breath coming in shorter and shorter bursts. Logically, he knew that his lover was anything but a restraint, but memories of Bedlam were pushing their way to the surface. Fighting to take up his consciousness.

“My love, I understand that we don’t have any responsibilities until daybreak, but my legs are falling asleep,” Thomas lied, reaching for a safer excuse. Both of them felt the pressure of expectations upon them, limiting their ability to speak freely.

Without a word, James rolled off of him with ease, neatly landing on his feet. Thomas, however, had not been practicing that maneuver for decades and reached his hand towards James to be helped up. James’ burst of warmth on his hand shocked him in the cool air and when James tugged up, Thomas went weak and fell right into him. It was only James’ strong arms that steadied him, leaving their faces pressed nearly nose-to-nose, breaths mingling.

Thomas opened his mouth to apologize when he saw James’ sly grin, one corner of his mouth perked up. “You meant for that to happen,” Thomas accused, faking his anger.

“Perhaps,” James said. His grin dropped as he leaned in closer, and Thomas found himself closing his eyes as lips met. Their kiss earlier had made Thomas feel like Icarus falling not into the sea but the sun, delighting in how it burned the feathers off his wings. Now, in the night time, it was akin to Pygmalion and Galatea, exchanging kisses that could soften a statue, create life out of nothing. It was slow but every bit as meaningful as the tightness in Thomas’ chest loosened with the brush of skin on skin.

When James opened his mouth against Thomas’, Thomas had to pull back before he let himself go further. He hadn’t been touched in ten years and he felt he was a teenager again, every nerve on high. When James chased him forward with a soft whine he wanted to damn it all to hell, but it was only the sound of the waves lapping against the ship that told him to stop.

“The crew,” he said. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

James studied his face, their eyes still so close it was dizzying. With a gentle nod, he released Thomas and stepped back. Thomas’ arms turned to ice in the spaces were James had just been and he rubbed them, trying to mimic the feeling. Every interaction between them was a promise for more, an acknowledgement that this was not the end. Men hadn’t been made into gods in eons but in James’ presence, Thomas could already picture their constellations.

He let James lead the way as he headed past the desk and towards a seat by the windows. James took the post looking out towards the room and Thomas sat across from him, letting James be on guard for both of them. The seat was large but not built for this use and Thomas ended up with his legs in James lap, his pants stark white against James’ own clothes. He picked at the linen, lightly frowning. When he realized the damage he was doing to his only set of clothes he splayed his hand wide, moving it instead to lay against the cold window.

“Where did you get those from?” James said, gesturing to Thomas’ outfit.

Thomas tore his eyes away from his pants and rested his head against the window, focusing on the dark ocean beneath them. “The sugar plantation supplied them to all the men,” he said, forcing his voice to be steady.

“Plantation?” James repeated, lightly touching Thomas’ calf.

“It’s where Peter took me after my father died, I’ve been there ever since,” he said.

“That’s where all the sugar came from,” James said, sounding like he was somewhere else entirely. “I had assumed… I don’t know what I assumed. I think I just didn’t want to think too hard about it.”

“I can understand the feeling.” Thomas was not alluding to his own experiences but his feeling on the _Cythera_ yesterday, watching the horrors around them. They both had suffered much and to take it all in at once was like trying to swallow the ocean.

He was shaken out of his thoughts when James lifted Thomas’ legs and put them on the ground, doing the same with his own. Without explanation James stood up and walked back to the hammock, pulling out a chest that had been pushed against the wall. Thomas followed him, feeling like a lost dog.

“What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, James flipped the latches on the chest and pulled it open. The night was still strong and Thomas had to crouch down on James’ right to see the contents, nearly losing his balance when he realized what it was.

“They won’t fit well but…” James trailed off when he realized Thomas’s right hand was already outstretched to the clothes, inches away from touching them. “You have free reign,” he continued.

If Thomas spoke he knew it would come out incomprehensible with tears so he just nodded, settling his left hand down on top of James’. The clothes in the chest were old and occasionally ratty, dyed in dark and neutral tones so unlike what he used to wear; Thomas had never seen clothes more lovely.

“I haven’t had options in a long time,” he whispered. At the bottom of the chest his hands tightened on a shirt dyed an emerald green, the color so present in his memories it hurt.

“Miranda gifted that one to me,” James said, confirming his suspicions. It was almost the exact color of his wife’s favorite dress, albeit a bit duller due to the lesser cost. While Thomas pulled his own shirt off and replaced it, James leaned forward and dug out a pair of black pants for him.

The shirt was tight around his shoulders and not quite long enough in the arms, but he welcomed anything that wasn’t sun-bleached and loose. For all the ways Thomas had swam upstream against his nobility, he had loved clothing and what they could mean to people, how they allowed self-expression. When that had been taken away from him, it was just another way he had been ripped away from himself. Standing here, in James’ clothes, he felt another hole mend.

It was only when James pressed the pants into his hands that he realized tears were streaming down his face. James reached up to wipe Thomas’ face and he made a noise like a cross between a laugh and a hiccup.

“These are joyous, James, don’t worry.”

Quietly, Thomas discarded the linen clothes in favor of the new pants, chuckling when he saw how they ended inches before they should. All that remained on him of the plantation were his socks and, on a whim, he bent down to remove those too. The wood was harsh against his bare feet and Thomas knew he would likely get splinters but he found he didn’t care.

When he straightened up, James was staring at him in near-awe. Behind him, the night sky had just started to lighten, casting the whole world in shades of blue. In this half-light, Thomas could just start to make out all the freckles on James’ skin, like the stars had fled from the sky to bless his lover.

“I love you,” James whispered, a man confessing.

“I love you too.” It wasn’t enough. What Thomas felt for James, it was bigger than those words. It belonged in museums, an artist’s last painting before their emotions ate them alive. The fever high captured in every stroke of the brush until you could almost reach through the painting and touch their face.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it enough,” James said. “I’m sorry that I was so afraid to open up, I’m sorry that I still am, but I need you to know. Ever since I rushed back to your estate and Miranda told me they had already taken you, I’ve spent my waking moments going over our every interaction, seeing all the spaces I could have told you but didn’t. In our time apart, everything I have felt led me straight back to you.”

Thomas couldn’t quite process the words. He knew that in London he had been much freer with his expressions towards James but he had never held it against the man—he knew that James was more a man of actions than words. To hear this, to have someone else admit to an obsession with revisiting the past and wanting to make it right. It was hard to believe that he no longer would have to look back to make amends, that all his missed opportunities were right in front of him.

He took a step towards James, forcing down the choking feeling so he could speak. It felt like anything he’d say in return would trivialize the importance of James’ vow, so he settled on changing directions.

“If wearing your clothes triggers this in you, I’ll have to do it more.”

Although it was less than a meter, Thomas felt as if there was a yawning chasm between them. Their hands met in the middle, pulling each other in. They walked back to the window seat, resuming their position, although James pulled a mock face at Thomas’ bare feet. Thomas laughed and lightly kicked at his chest, James catching his blow before he could hit his target.

Their window was facing east and as James spoke to him about the daily going-ons of the ship, Thomas found he couldn’t focus. The first rays of sunlight had crept over the horizon, illuminating his partner in a soft light, casting the illusion that he was glowing from within. Once again, his gaze was caught on the vast expanse of freckles dotting every visible spot, which admittedly wasn’t much. James was still dressed in his maroon shirt and pants and despite the fact that it hung low and the sleeves were rolled to his elbows, Thomas wished he could see more. But the light was both a blessing and a curse because while it allowed him to see James more clearly, it also indicated that soon they would have to play a part in a role Thomas would love to abandon.

He rested his head against the slowly warming window, allowing himself to look towards the future instead of living in the past. Captain Flint’s name had first been introduced to him nearly ten years ago, meaning James had become a captain almost immediately after having arrived in Nassau. This had been his job for so long, one that meant he would have a strict script to follow. When they got to Nassau, would James be able to abandon his part? Even if he said he wanted to, the past had a nagging tendency to trail after you; there would likely be invisible bonds holding him down.

The blue hour came and went as the sun steadily made its course up and up and up. James continued to discuss the menial with Thomas, quite clearly avoiding anything of importance. There had been so many allusions that James had quickly cut off, even as Thomas so desperately wanted to follow them. The Urca de Lima. Why he had become a pirate. Even what made him come running to the estate the day Thomas was taken.

This ship had freed Thomas, but now it was constricting him in an entirely new way. At that thought he rested his hand on James’ knee, squeezing it lightly. The feeling of being touched was addicting and abhorrent to Thomas but he grit his teeth and moved through it, unwilling to recreate his panic in the hammock. It was only a matter of time for his wounds to heal.

A knocking on the door withdrew Thomas from his thoughts and he momentarily flashed back to the day before, when he had been in a position simultaneously like and unlike his current one. The two greatest changes in his life had happened in less than an hour, the universe pulling the rug out from under him. Made and unmade. Killed and birthed anew. Thomas tightened his grip.

“Yes?” James called to the door, looking similarly unwilling to relent his position.

“It’s Gates,” the voice—Gates—said, both responding and not. James sighed and glanced at Thomas, studying his face before he rose from the bench.

Thomas watched him walk away, fixing his posture when James reached for the door handle. James still hadn’t told him how they were covering for Thomas’ presence on the ship, much less this cabin, but he doubted it involved being a lowly worker. If being an English lord was what was saving him now, then Thomas would have to look the part, even if he felt so distant from that time.

The cabin was large but not large enough for Thomas to miss the quirk of Gates’ brow when he saw Thomas’ position, how his eyes danced between the two. This was one of the men who James had said he trusted, so Thomas would have to put faith in his words. Even as the observant gaze made Thomas itch.

Their discussion was quiet and quick, with James immediately walking back to the window once Gates had left. He stood in front of Thomas with his hand twitching at his sides, a familiar glimpse into his emotions.

“We’re going to have to go on deck soon,” James said. “Gates has already covered for us this long, but it won’t hold if the men think we want to be down here.”

Thomas tilted his head, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “What exactly do they think I am? And it’s not like my change of clothes is going to help our case.”

James dismissed the grievance with a wave of his hand. “We brought plenty of crates and chests aboard, I can say that the clothes were from there. I’ve never worn that shirt, and the pants are common enough.”

“You didn’t answer my initial question.”

“I told them you were a disgraced English lord who wanted to leave the colonies but didn’t know how,” James said bluntly. Thomas snorted at the truth of the situation, how he had managed to lie without ever once telling a falsehood. “They’ll see you as one of their own, someone who England hates. If anyone protests that we wouldn’t normally take you on, I’ll just say that we were close enough to Nassau it wasn’t a burden for you to hitch a ride.”

Thomas nodded, rising to stand with James. The motion brought them nearly nose-to-nose once more, their knees brushing. Thomas grinned and lightly moved James back, giving himself room to breathe. Don’t start what you can’t finish, he reminded himself.

“How far are we from Nassau?” Thomas inquired.

James’ eyes moved from looking at the ocean behind Thomas to the man himself, a grin making its way across his face. “We’ll arrive before noon.”

That was only a matter of hours. If he just waited, Miranda could be in his arms again, holding each other the way they used to. With a pang in his heart, Thomas remembered that as of now, she still thought he was dead. He glanced at James, and they made a silent affirmation to fix that as quickly as possible.

“The men would have just finished eating, we can go up with them now,” James said, turning towards the exit. At the mention of food, Thomas was able to name one of his current pains: hunger. The last time he had eaten was the morning before on the _Cythera,_ food that was barely palatable but he consumed anyways. Shock of the day had taken over all normal bodily functions but as that faded, the ache for food replaced it. He’d keep that to himself, certain that a meal with Miranda and James would be much more satisfying than ship rations. Quickly, he pulled his socks and boots on, regretting how they ruined his embrace of the present. It was no matter, soon he’d be free of them.

When James opened the door, he could hear the ruckus of men above him going about their day. All Thomas had to do for the next hour was act like a dishonored former nobleman who was not desperately in love with their captain. One role would be much harder than the other.

They ascended the stairs with James leading the way, and Thomas admired how with every step he transformed. Together, although he was still on guard, he could relax his shoulders, let himself fidget the way he always did. When he stepped on deck his pace was strong and true, his head held daringly high. Thomas forced himself to put space between him and James even as he awkwardly followed him, unsure of what else to do. He was overly conscious of the clothes he wore, the way he walked, how he held himself. Thomas was a man stuck in twilight, not a nobleman but also not anything else.

He once tried to make James teach him basic ship vocabulary but even then, without ten years between lessons, it had been hard for him to retain the knowledge. Everything just looked like wood.

Before they climbed another set of stairs, James turned sharply around to stop Thomas in his tracks. “You can go sit on one of the chairs I’ve had Gates set up there,” he instructed. It was jarring how much his voice had shifted from the warm tone earlier, but Thomas knew they had games to play. He nodded once then crossed to the chair James had gestured to, refusing to even turn around to glimpse James. He couldn’t shake the feeling that if he even glanced twice it would all fall down, mutiny turning their story to Orpheus and Eurydice.

Simply put, there was nothing for Thomas to do but sit and breathe. At first, he had let his eyes track James around the ship before realizing that the crew might notice. Then he pointedly did not look at James, once again realizing that those actions were suspicious as well. He settled for keeping his eyes on the horizon, sure the water was a safe spot.

When Nassau came into view, not even the excitement—or vulgarity—of the crew could return Thomas’ breath. Looking at the town, he struggled to connect what he was seeing with the place he had once idealized. Thomas used to blame Nassau itself for his struggles, before recognizing that as long as the system permitted men like his father to be in power, this would keep happening—Nassau or no. The beaches were bleached white and Thomas could understand the lure of the place, how the sun could melt your sins like wax.

He felt eyes on his back and turned from the ocean back to the ship, half-expecting it to be Billy or Gates waiting for him to slip up. Instead, it was James staring at him, a quiet mirth in his eyes. Thomas smiled softly at him before forcing it away, wrenching his gaze back to the approaching Nassau. Later, they’d have time later.

The island held him in a siren’s grip until it was time to disembark, at which he removed himself from his perch and went to the lower deck. James’ gravity quickly pulled him in and he schooled himself as he walked, trying to look less like someone being helplessly pulled in and more like someone who simply didn’t know what happened next. It was half true, in a way—the promise of Miranda was on his mind.

“I have important business in Nassau town to conduct about the Urca, so you and I will be getting off-ship first, along with a handful of men,” James said looking straight ahead, his speech the only way of acknowledging Thomas.

Thomas stood next to him mocking his position, back straight and arms behind his back. “I take it that’s not how it normally goes?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas caught the quirk of James’ lips before it quickly disappeared. “No, I’m usually last off.”

“The Urca must be very important,” Thomas said.

At that, James looked at him. Thomas’ breath caught in his throat at those piercing green eyes and he could do nothing but maintain the contact.

“Yes, yes it is,” James said, a tenderness entering his voice. Thomas swallowed and they both looked back to Nassau, trying not to look as if they were aware of the other. On the contrary, Thomas was very conscious of James’ body so close to his own. He repressed a shiver, hoping that whatever showed could be taken only as a matter of the cool winds blowing.

“Billy,” James called, waving his hand to the tall man from yesterday. He turned around to face away from Nassau and Thomas parroted him. Billy crossed the deck towards them, allowing Thomas to appreciate the size of that man—doorways must hate him. Billy was staring at him in a similar fashion and Thomas hoped that whatever commonalities they shared would allow a comradery to form. Whoever James trusted, Thomas wanted to trust too.

“Yes, captain?” he asked, looking between the two. Thomas forced himself to stay where he was, aware that any step would only increase suspicion.

“You, me, him, and Dooley are all embarking to Nassau first. The men will know Gates is in charge,” James said.

“Are you sure that’s wise? Leaving the ship before the rest of the men, I mean,” Billy said. He held such potential to be physically intimidating but the way he held himself in front of his captain… he looked like a child moments from scolding. Thomas wondered how James ran his ship, before realizing that he didn’t actually want to know. Yesterday he had seen how the violence hurt James and Thomas knew he’d do whatever it took to stop it from swallowing him whole.

“Yes, Billy, I know what I’m doing. I have been captain of this ship for the past ten years.”

Billy opened his mouth to protest but was silenced by just a look. At the man’s hesitant face Thomas had to laugh but he disguised it with a cough, refusing to be on the man’s bad side. When Billy glanced over at him, Thomas evenly returned his gaze.

“I’ll go prepare the boat, Captain.” Billy walked towards Gates and he watched James follow his path, an undecipherable look on his face. That was fine, Thomas knew James would tell him whatever past they harbored eventually.

When the boat was ready—a small rowboat with three sets of oars—Thomas was the first to board. This time, as he crossed over, James couldn’t lean in close, but Thomas could feel the memory of him on his back. Billy climbed on next, then the man that must be Dooley, then finally James. The seats were only large enough to fit one man on a row, forcing Thomas and James onto opposite ends of the boat, with the former at the front and latter at the back.

The ride to the shore was nigh unbearable to Thomas, his anxiety increasing with every stroke of the oars behind him. He had been offered the oars but James had been quick to take them, leaving Thomas with nothing to do or look at besides Nassau. Just staring at it hurt and so he turned his gaze to the water, the brightest and clearest he had ever seen. He leaned over slightly, careful not to unbalance the boat, and let his fingertips drag in the sea.

Behind him, one of the oars faltered and smacked the side of the boat. All three men turned to look at James, who was struggling to refit his grip on his oar to prevent it from falling into the water.

“Sorry,” James said, only looking at Thomas.

Thomas turned around to hide his smile.

When the water got shallow, Dooley and Billy hopped out to push the boat, leaving only Thomas and James. He could feel James’ eyes on his back but he kept looking straight forward, unwilling to tempt himself. The boat’s resistance to the sand surprised Thomas and he nearly tipped forward, only being stopped by a hand on the back of his shirt.

“Thank you,” Thomas said, turning to direct the statement to James. He tipped his head forward in acknowledgement, eyes passing between Dooley and Billy to ensure they were busy with the boat.

“You’re welcome.”

It was a struggle to splash through the water onto the sand but Thomas did it with dignity, refusing to falter once. The beach was a hub of activity, men and women alike indulging in all of their vices around him. If he knew it wouldn’t make him look like a creep, Thomas would gawk.

“I’ll take him to town so he can do what he wants with himself,” James said. “Dooley, Billy… don’t get yourselves in trouble.”

Dooley practically cackled at that while Billy kept the same ever-concerned face. Leaving them to their own, James gestured inland and the two men walked side-by-side.

“I have a horse we can take immediately to Miranda,” James said. “The stable is barely a minute away.”

He was right. In no time James had mounted his horse, lending Thomas his hand to climb on behind him. James kept a steady pace towards the interior and despite the ever-increasing desire to see his wife now, Thomas couldn’t help but be grateful—he hadn’t exactly had any riding experience lately. Thomas let himself be consumed by his thoughts as his initial interest in Nassau lulled.

When he had found James again, he had had no time to stew over what it meant that he was back from the dead; all Thomas had known was that there was a door and he must open it. Riding on this horse to Miranda’s house, James’ warmth against his chest, he couldn’t help but run over all the ways this could go. His wife had been his closest friend and confidant long before he had met James and she was one of only two he trusted with his life. To see her again… Thomas hardly knew how he would react, she had been gone from his life as long as she had been in it.

“What were those plans you mentioned?” Thomas asked, purposefully abandoning his previous train of thought.

“Hmm?”

“When you got the fever and...” Thomas trailed off, unwilling to continue the sentence. They both knew where that story ended.

“I did have intentions when I set out to become a pirate, although they have taken a long time. The mission with the Urca de Lima was supposed to solve everything.”

“You’re avoiding what I asked,” Thomas said. Even here, where they were completely alone, James was resisting explaining his plans, what had been motivating him. Desperately, he wished that he could see James’ face, that the reins weren’t disguising any fidgeting from him.

“I know, Thomas. I just—I do have business in Nassau town, that wasn’t a lie. My guard, it isn’t as easy to tear down and build up as I’d like it to be, and there isn’t enough time between here and Miranda’s house to properly explain.”

“Where is—“ the sound of a dropped tea set interrupted Thomas. Immediately, he looked over James’ shoulder and saw Miranda in front of the house, shattered porcelain strewn on the ground in front of her.

“Miranda,” Thomas breathed, slipping off the horse and sprinting towards her. He caught her as she slid to her knees, lifting her as to prevent cuts from the tea set. James remained on the horse, watching the two of them.

His wife was wearing a beige dress, free from any frills or ornaments. A lacy cloth covered her head but slipped off when she stumbled and was floating down to cover the porcelain. Her skin was warm to the touch and much tanner than England’s sun had ever allowed it to get.

“Miranda,” Thomas said again, pressing his face close to hers. His wife’s eyes were impossibly wide, a paleness slipping in underneath the sun’s touch.

“Thomas,” she responded, her voice cracking on the simple word. He nodded, and together they wept in front of her home, only James’ shadow shielding them from the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when thomas' existence makes james drop his oar :)
> 
> please comment i am so thirsty for praise and i worked for so long on this


	4. what are you unwilling to lose if you lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas' anxieties over James' priorities peak when talking to Miranda, all while James is away dealing with the Urca de Lima.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this baby did not want to be written so please enjoy my efforts

Despite all reason, Thomas had still expected Miranda to smell like her perfume. Her face was crushed into his neck and his hands were bundled in her hair, with both of them kneeling on the dirt. Thomas could sense James more than he could see him, as preoccupied with Miranda as he was.

“You two should probably go inside,” James called, still on the damn horse. Thomas knew that he had business to attend to in town, but Thomas wanted to be selfish. He still didn’t know what the Urca de Lima was beyond it being a prize James needed to capture, and what safer place was there than Miranda’s house? The woman in question felt the same because she retreated from Thomas’ arms, fixing her glare on James.

“I know you didn’t just imply that you aren’t going inside too,” Miranda accused, still clinging to Thomas’ shirt. He was sure it was stained from her tears but he couldn’t care, the future held so many possibilities for him, including a wardrobe of his own.

“I have a meeting about the Urca. It’s time for a change in schedule.” James glanced at Thomas on the last part, and he wondered exactly how many plans his presence had thrown away. Before he or Miranda could protest more, James rode away, his eyes lingering on them as long as possible.

Awareness of the environment came back to Thomas all at once, the remains of the teapot by their feet, the wide-open plain of Nassau’s interior. Thomas caught himself glancing around for others before returning to Miranda, her eyes trained on him.

“Darling, I think he’s right,” Thomas said.

“About leaving us right now?” Miranda cried indignantly, standing up and backing away from Thomas. The effect was ruined by the fact that she was still clutching his fingers, his arm bridging the gap between the two. He rose up alongside her, careful not to step on the porcelain.

“About going inside.” He released her hand and bent over once more to clear the remains of the porcelain, not wanting it to accidentally pierce their shoes. Miranda caught his shoulder and pulled him back up, forcing him to drop what he had just grabbed.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, leading him inside. “You’re going to tell me everything.”

And he did. At least, everything about the events of the past 24 hours, from the pirates boarding the cargo ship to arriving here on horseback with James, caught unawares by how quickly he’d see her again. She had made tea for the two of them while he talked and he nursed it slowly, savoring its warmth as it made its way down his throat. He hadn’t had anything from someone who loved him in too long.

Thomas avoided the major points of discussion in the story: his time in Savannah, how he had nearly broken down when given new clothes, how he _had_ broken down at the sight of James’ note in the collected works. He wanted to ask what James was sorry for, but the longer he stayed in Miranda’s house, the clearer the answer became. She had knickknacks, a full-sized bed, expensive trinkets that could have only come from raided ships. For everything she did have, the absence increased.

“It was lonely for you, wasn’t it?” Thomas asked. The question startled Miranda, but he continued on, determined to finish his thoughts, as painful as they were. “All these years I thought that you had each other, at least in your final moments, but here I can see that that isn’t true. Loneliness has always been something you had to carry.”

The last sentence alluded to more than just their time apart, and although Thomas had never voiced that thought, its meaning still rang true. He looked up from his cup to study her face, awaiting her response with held breath.

“Thomas,” Miranda said. She reached forward across the table and seized his hand, resting it next to his teacup. “I don’t care how long it has been, I still know you enough to see behind your words. Don’t you dare try to apologize over who you were and who you couldn’t be. I loved our life in London, and I loved you as well.”

“That doesn’t negate what I’m trying to say,” Thomas insisted, guilt welling up inside him. This place was empty, void of anything Miranda had once loved.

“I won’t hear it, Thomas,” Miranda said. “If anything, I should be apologizing to you. I was the one who insisted we followed your commands and not run after you, even when James wanted to find you. When we received that letter from Peter… James and I both gave up.”

“I’d say I can’t believe you’re apologizing for listening to me, but I know you too well to do so,” he said. “I don’t know anything about the Urca de Lima, I don’t know what made James board my ship, but this is a second chance for the three of us, a way to start anew. We used to say that Nassau was for beginnings, can’t we make our own right now?”

Even as he said it, he heard how false the words were, how they awkwardly fell off his tongue. Thomas realized that he was squeezing Miranda’s hand and he released his grip. They stared at each other before she sighed and stood up, turning towards the pantry.

“I’m getting food, this is not a conversation for an empty stomach,” Miranda said. Her hands shook as she pulled out cheese and bread, a barely repressed rage coming out in the whites of her knuckles and steadiness of her breath. Thomas watched in apprehension, awaiting the turn their conversation was taking.

It was a ritual to Miranda, the action of laying out the food on plates, pouring tea and bringing it over in delicate cups and saucers. With each dish, she almost caressed it before placing it on the table, analyzing it before moving its placements just so, satisfying no one but her. A spark of recognition flared inside Thomas’ mind as memories resurfaced of how she’d craft her flower arrangements, carefully picking and choosing each blossom. This is where his wife has been channeling her creativity, falling from flowers to food.

“Nassau,” Miranda began, wiping her hands on a rag as she sat down. “Is not a kind place. And every day I fear that I am not a kind woman. There is this, this—rage living inside me, burrowed deep within my skin. I feel it come out at the strangest moments, until I am my garden nigh catatonic with anger amongst the roots. It is not at you or at James but at how fucking unfair everything is and how I thought I had so much power and it left within moments, still a stranger to me.

“And yet I don’t let myself feel this anger, trapped in this Puritan bubble. When we first arrived, James was ready to burn the world down until there was nothing left, fighting so England could hurt how he hurt. I made myself stay calm and steady so he could still have that in his life, and I’m afraid that I’ve written this role I can’t break out of.” Miranda’s chest was heaving by the time she finished her sentence, though her face was neutral and pleasant the whole time.

Thomas had never had to face James or Miranda’s anger. With James, he only ever saw the aftermath: a bruise after a bar fight, the destruction on the cargo ship yesterday. It was always there within James, even in their softest moments. Sitting at this table with Miranda, glimpsing it felt like watching a phantom pass in the night. Of all the ways he could describe his wife—passionate, confident, witty, beautiful—angry had never been his top choice. Sometime in the past decade he had lifted a halo behind her head, and now she was tearing it down.

Her words hung between them, condensing around their communion. Thomas could see how large the table was, beckoning parties and life, yet how little chairs were set up around it. Speech would not come to him so he settled his thoughts by reaching between them and cutting the bread, slice by slice.

“Miranda, I thought I had known you so well in London, that we could tell each other everything,” Thomas said. “I don’t want secrets between us, not now and not ever.”

"Then why were you so clearly avoiding topics when talking to me earlier?" Miranda asked. She took a slice of bread and put it on her place, tearing each bite off.

"What do you mean?"

"You told me about everything but yourself. I am not a flower. I've been tending after James all these years, I can stomach your stories even if I don't want to. Thomas, where were you all this time? Why were you on that ship?"

So, this is where the conversation was turning. Thomas put down the piece of bread he was about to eat with a sigh, letting the pain in his stomach motivate him to tell this story and tell it quick. He owed it to Miranda to share this part of his life with her, but the necessity couldn’t cast it in a different light. As he rested his hand against the table, Thomas was acutely aware of the dirt still stuck beneath his fingernails.

“I—“ he started, before cutting himself off. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you this story while sitting down.” It had been so easy to tell James under the cover of night, where he could look at anything but his inquisitive lover’s face. On a ship, the world held so much potential that he could let his past slip. Miranda’s house was small and stagnant, and Thomas began to pace as he told his story.

“When my father died,” Thomas paused when Miranda stiffened, scanning her face before moving on. “I learned that I was being transferred from the hospital to a plantation in Savannah, a place where high-class men and other important troublemakers were sent to ‘cease to be.’”

“A plantation?” Miranda repeated. For a moment Thomas stilled, thinking back to James’ same reaction from earlier. Both of them were still so similar, even as they only seemed to see their differences.  
  


“Don’t get me wrong, a plantation is a horrible place to be,” Thomas said, resuming his pacing back and forth in a tight line. “I welcomed it. The sky was bright, I had actual clothes, and I slept in a bed. The schedule was the same each and every day and to be completely honest, I had no idea how long I was there compared to my time in Bedlam. I received one letter there and it wasn’t dated, so time just slipped through my fingers like sand.

“I was on the cargo ship because my brother—William—died and his wife wanted me to attend his funeral.” That part was strange to say, knowing that he was speaking to the one person in his life who had actually met his family beyond his father. James never would have been able to no matter how long they were together, but Miranda had attended dinners and parties and weddings with them for close to a decade; they were her family as much as they were his. Yet looking at Miranda’s face, she wasn’t surprised

“Miranda, did you know that already?” Thomas asked. He crossed back to the table and rested his hands on the back of a chair while her eyes followed his path. Miranda wrenched her gaze from Thomas’ hands to his face, a guarded expression overcoming her.

“Yes, I did. I tried my hardest to keep what little connections to England I could, and one of our former maids mentioned it in a letter,” Miranda said. 

“They’ll still talk to you?” Thomas had been under the impression that England had completely cast them out and they had cast out England in return, but each conversation with Miranda dirtied that image. She missed their home, even if she didn’t miss what it had done to them.

Miranda snorted. “Hardly, its only Sarah left. I used to have more, but my reputation with Captain Flint severed many of them.”

“Reputation?” Thomas asked. He scanned the room once more, this time looking for anything that could paint his wife in a negative light to others. There were no weapons, no blood, everything was as clean as it could be. Hell, she wore lace head coverings and maintained her garden religiously. Nothing here pointed to a reputation.

“According to Nassau town, I am a sea witch who birthed James from dark magic and bathes him in the blood of innocents to make him invulnerable,” Miranda drawled with the air of a stage performer, lifting one hand and waving it in the air. She set it back down on the table with a thud and looked at Thomas with a wry grin. He was sure he must look dumbfounded, which he thought was justified because the story was utterly incomprehensible.

“You’re kidding me?”

“I wish I was. Don’t know where they got all that from James telling them he had a Puritan wife, but men everywhere love their stories.”

That they do. Against all of his wishes, Thomas had come to Nassau viewing his life under a paradigm, a narrative he had formed without any intention of doing so. He’d reunite with Miranda, and together they’d work out a way to relieve James of his piracy, with James barely resisting—if he did at all. He hadn’t looked past that, ignorantly believing he wouldn’t need to.

The rush from seeing his loves again was still drumming in his blood but Miranda was clearing the sand from his eyes. She wanted to return to the past, while James wanted to burn it all down. Enter Thomas, caught between who he was and who he could be, confusing even himself where they crossed.

He had assumed that James’ behavior since they met was normal, but looking back, he saw how erratic it was. The clumsy way he avoided questions, admitting that he had never worn Miranda’s gift, how he left to go to Nassau town as soon as possible. Anxiety rose in Thomas as he realized that subconsciously, he had been viewing James McGraw under a James Flint shell, like it was just something he could crack and reveal the fruit underneath.

“When did you get James this shirt?” Thomas asked, an idea blossoming in his mind.

“He told you?” Miranda asked. Thomas nodded and pulled the chair back, sitting back down in front of her once again. “Probably a year ago, after one of our fights. He took it, said thank you, and then I never saw it again.”

In his mind’s eye, Thomas could see the note James had written for Miranda, how it had felt underneath his hand. Thomas almost felt he had gotten off easy all alone, while a form of resentment had grown in the cracks of the love between Miranda and James. Now that it was the three of them together again, Thomas wouldn’t let this pain stay; if he had ever been good at anything, it was trying to solve problems.

“James hasn’t been James McGraw in a long time, has he?” The look Miranda gave him was answer enough. His question had opened something in Miranda and before Thomas could share his thoughts, she began to speak.

“Even in London we knew who James was, the darkness he held inside him. When your capture let it out, he let it consume him. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve heard him speak your name. He could take stab wounds and gun shots with no complaint, but saying your name was like touching fire.”

Thomas began to reach out for Miranda’s hand but she withdrew it, standing up with determination clear on her face. Silently, she left the room, crossing over to her small library and withdrawing a red book.

His shaky inhale was all Miranda needed to set the book on the table, sliding it to him.

“He loves both of us, and it is both of us he needs to escape what could consume him,” Miranda said. "Maybe you are right, but Nassau isn’t some holy place where we can to live in harmony. For all of us it holds pain, sharp and biting. It isn’t clay to be molded but a living breathing being that will fight back against positive change, no matter how good and pure the intentions are.”

Miranda’s words hit Thomas as he lifted the cover with unsteady hands, revealing his own handwriting staring back at him. _Meditations_ had been on Miranda’s shelf, not James’. A wave of gratitude towards his wife washed over Thomas, the care she must have had to preserve it all this time. He lifted his hand and shut the book, letting the wave of emotions he felt drive him to speech.

“Nassau isn’t what any of us thought it was, and it will never be. Miranda, we have all been viewing each other wrongly. I don’t want to be who I was, even as he lives within me now. My old plan was wrong not because pirates are inherently evil or good, but because I was looking through England’s eyes. I still believe man is a complex creature, and I am going to do whatever I can to help Nassau, and I’d like you two to be beside me.”

What had happened to the three of them, it never should have happened to anyone. It was cruel, and unfair, and wrong. It had left the three of them stranded, trying to swim back to each other, with Miranda and James having been separated by the tides without Thomas ever realizing. Who they were now was unprecedented for all of them, scarred by trauma and grief. But they didn’t need to know who they were, as long as they were ready to find out.

“Where is James now?” Thomas asked, mentally readying himself to leave.

“The inn, probably, talking to Eleanor as he always does.” There was a bitterness there, but he knew he couldn’t resolve it before enacting his plan first. Thomas was acutely aware that his tendency to have a one-track mind had led to his downfall, but it had also helped him reach his goals countless other times. You only needed to fail once to be tainted, but he couldn’t look at his life like that.

“Then we’re going there to talk to him and try and stop whatever is happening. I know you know more than I do about the Urca and his plans, but I am aware that neither of us trust where it will lead him, what it will do to him. What we need to do is lay ourselves bare, then try and proceed however we can.”

Miranda took in his words, still standing and just staring at _Meditations._ “Alright, we can go. Eat first, I’ll go clean up the porcelain.”

She left him alone and he ate the bread he had sliced, letting it fill the gnawing in himself. A moment later Miranda returned, her lace placed back on her head.

“Are you ready?” she asked, leaning against the doorway, the light illuminating her outline.

“Always.” He rose, tucking his chair back into the table. When he reached the door he held out his elbow and Miranda took it, sliding into place. Of course, it was entirely different from what it had been—their clothes much rougher, their presence still delighting the other instead of being routine—but it was warm and familiar.

Walking to Nassau felt like the start of a journey, the way the air smelled like opportunity at the start of every novel. Beginnings were like holding the start of a universe in your hand, knowing that it can still twist and turn into anything. They had chosen to walk rather than ride, using the longer journey as an opportunity to think.

A figure walking towards them on the path interrupted Thomas’ musings. With surprise, he realized it was a clergy man, clutching his bible in his arms.

“Miranda,” the man called, quickening his pace towards them. Thomas heard Miranda sigh and she glanced at him, a slightly pleading look on her face. He recognized it from all the parties they had been forced to attend together, when someone both wanted nothing to do with came and they had to play nice.

“Pastor Lambrick,” Miranda murmured in Thomas’ ear. “Let me take the lead.”

Thomas smiled at her and straightened his posture, trying to fit the image of who she needed him to be.

The man stopped short just ahead of them, obviously looking Thomas up and down to figure out why Miranda was on his arm.

“I was just on the way to your house to let you read my sermon,” Lambrick said. “Who is this?”

“My husband,” Miranda said. Thomas smiled charmingly at the man, stifling a laugh when the pastor went white. “And thank you for offering, but we must be on our way now.”

Miranda pulled him forward and Thomas followed, nearly having to move off the path to avoid walking into the stunned pastor.

“Miranda,” Thomas chided as soon as they were out of ear shot. “Who was that?”

“Must I tell you all my secrets immediately?” she teased, a light in her eyes. “Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough. He’s rather fond of showing up unexpectedly.”

Thomas laughed bright and clear, feeling his wife doing the same at his side. He could get used to this again.

Nassau town rose up on the horizon, the buildings haphazardly strewn together in what looked like a fire waiting to happen. Drunkards stumbled around, repeating the steps do a dance only they knew. The women tended to be less dressed than Miranda and he awkwardly averted his eyes, at which his wife laughed.

“You grow used to it,” she said.

They made their way to the inn, a tall building connected by a pathway to the neighboring brothel. What a strange combination, Thomas thought.

The bottom floor of the inn was spacious and bright, chairs and tables placed around in no particular order. The few patrons inside were pointedly not looking at a set of closing double-doors, in which Thomas just barely glimpsed a shot of red hair and the tail end of a beratement from Gates.

Thomas glanced at Miranda and knew she saw James too. He began to walk towards the door but Miranda stayed steadfast, holding on to his arm and preventing him from moving.

“Wait, let’s get a drink. I want to know if my hunch is right about who is in there.”

The two sat down at a table near the door, close enough as to be able to hear what was inside, but far enough that they weren’t completely isolated and sticking out. Neither made any move to order, and typically Thomas would have felt bad over loitering, but no one took any notice.

Voices started up from within the closed room again, a man who spoke so deeply it was more stone scraping against stone than speech. Another man, this one nasally, interrupted him, speaking faster than any of them. Neither were loud enough for Thomas to be able to make out any words, just noises, but he didn’t like their tone. Thomas turned his eyes from the door back to Miranda whose face was pinched, her hands pressed into balls and tucked against her stomach.

At his inquisitive look, Miranda released her tension and settled her hands on the table, revealing the half-moons on her palms from where her nails bit in. “So far, I’ve heard James’ quartermaster, Charles Vane, and Jack Rackham. Eleanor Guthrie is most definitely in there too.”

Thomas didn’t recognize the name Rackham, but Charles Vane was familiar. Trained under Blackbeard, betrayed him for his own gain, bloodthirsty. Thomas wanted to barge in there and wrench James away from all of them but he calmed himself, knowing that he had survived for ten years somehow. These men knew him, even if they didn’t trust him, and James wasn’t in immediate danger.

A loud clatter and thump resounded throughout the inn, its source within the room. It could have been anything, a chair falling, a table being thrown. At the shout of “Stand down” from a woman, Thomas couldn’t stand it anymore. His need to know had always been one of his defining traits and he stood up, ready to resist Miranda when she tried to stop him. Instead, she was looking at the door as well, and gave Thomas a nearly imperceptible nod.

When up close with the door, he realized how impossible it was to subtly eavesdrop. There were no alcoves near it, no bars close enough. It had likely been placed with the intention of using other people’s judgement to stop anyone from crossing the line. Luckily, Thomas wasn’t a stranger to abandoning shame. He leaned against a post by the door, staring at nothing while he focused his hearing inside.

“You can’t be doing that, sir,” a voice said, coming from the stairs. A black man came into view, tall with scars marking his cheeks. “It’s a private meeting.”

“I’m sorry, Mr..?” Thomas paused, waiting for the man to supply his name.

“Scott.”

“Mr. Scott, but no one is going to stop me.”

Mr. Scott looked Thomas over, returning his gaze to Thomas’ eyes after a moment.

“I’ve never seen you before,” he said.

  
“No, I’m sure you haven’t,” Thomas said.

“You aren’t a pirate captain.”

“Good eyes.”

They both paused for a moment, waiting for the other to speak. Mr. Scott relented first.

“Fine, but don’t do anything rash.” He returned to his spot on the stairwell, and Thomas realized what a good position for spying it was. He remained where he was though, knowing that Mr. Scott’s courtesy wouldn’t extend to helping him eavesdrop.

“Why can we trust you?” the nasally voice said, diverting Thomas’ attention once more towards the door. That must be Jack Rackham.

“What reason do I have to lie?” James said.

“What reason do you have to lie? I think you have 5 million reasons to lie! The Urca de Lima isn’t exactly your average raid,” Rackham said.

_5 million._ The Urca de Lima, this ship James has been constantly worried about since they reunited, was worth 5 million pesos. Even Thomas, son and former heir of the Lord Proprietor, was amazed by that amount of wealth. Dreams were bought and lives were lost over 5 million pesos.

“What about our plan to help Nassau?” Eleanor asked. “Are you just abandoning that?”

“I’m not abandoning anything,” James responded. “I’m letting Vane borrow my crew to get the prize, we’re all still getting the money.”

“I don’t trust you,” Rackham said.

A laugh cut into the cacophony of voices, low and mocking. “Don’t act so surprised, Jack,” Vane said. “This isn’t the first time Flint has pulled one over everyone else.”

Thomas straightened up and pushed off the post, resuming a standing position. Goosebumps ran up and down his arms as he waited for what Vane was about to say. This Urca mission was a death wish, any ship that carried 5 million pesos across the ocean must be armed to the teeth. The room was silent, waiting for the end of Vane’s sentence, and Thomas found himself leaning in closer until he was nearly pressed against the door.

“Nice to see that you’re all finally listening to me,” Vane drawled. “I’m sure none of us have forgotten the Maria Aleyne, how Flint lied to his crew for weeks just so he could kill those two innocent people. Flint always has a plan, who’s to say this is no different?”

Thomas’ ears were ringing to the point where he barely caught the tail end of Vane’s words. The Maria Aleyne was a ship he was well-acquainted with; the name was printed all over the only letter Thomas had received when imprisoned in Bedlam. When it had been given to him, he could hardly open it, instead pressing it to his chest to relish in the feeling of paper. The words had been written with a steady hand, the ink dark and clear against the paper.

That letter had been a flame in the dark to Thomas in that wretched place, a reminder that he didn’t deserve what had been done to him by his father. It was short and simple, informing him that his father and mistress had been slain when pirates boarded their ship. A little touch of victory, that the men his father hated so behaved exactly as Alfred wanted them to.

Thomas remembered how conflicted he felt, knowing that just as pirates took from him, they also gave him so much. A need to survive, a belief in the world. Standing here, learning that it had been James who had killed his father, it felt like the dinner table at London again, when he had first kissed James. In his memories of that blessed night, all the lights were turned on high, the sun pulled down from the sky to shine light on James’ righteous fury. It was daylight in Nassau, but the heat Thomas could feel emanating from everywhere was not from nature but from truth, the way every door could be flung open from a key sentence.

Words were so much easier to say than do because it was only your mind stopping you, while the world would do all it could to prevent you from acting on them. Bit by bit, Thomas felt the vision of himself become clearer in his mind. The man he currently was had always been locked inside Lord Thomas Hamilton, experience had just provided a key. He had changed, but only in the way leaves turn to rust when winter freezes.

The yelling from within the room started up again, but Thomas ignored it all as he raised his arm up to knock twice. His blood turned to fire as he realized the power of that simple sound, that once again he was the one to be let in, not the one to be kicked out.

“We’re busy,” Gates said from within, obviously agitated at the interruption.

“I don’t care,” Thomas said, clipping each of his words.

Thomas heard the sound of a chair scraping back and the door opened, revealing James’ worried face.

“What are you doing here?” James hissed, peering over Thomas’ shoulder to find Miranda. He had no idea what Miranda was doing in this moment but he understood his wife, and knew that she would understand him in turn.

“Trust me,” Thomas said, pushing past James and walking into the room.

The meeting looked completely ordinary, with five chairs set around one table, curtains pulled to prevent anyone from peering in. All four of them were sitting down and staring at Thomas, various degrees of confusion written on their faces. Thomas recognized Gates, assumed the blonde woman must be Eleanor, leaving Rackham and Vane the only unknowns. Considering that he didn’t think such a deep voice could from a man with that facial hair, it was easy to pinpoint who was who.

“Who the fuck are you?” Vane asked. He was reclining in his chair, a cheroot lit in his hand. Gates winced at the words and began to speak, but Thomas held up his hand to stop him.

“I’m the man James did this all for,” Thomas said, finally voicing his realization. “Now get out.”

When James had told him everything he had felt led him back to Thomas, Thomas hadn’t fully caught their honesty, naming it a hyperbole and moved on. Speaking those words, any doubts Thomas had had about their truth vanished. Becoming James Flint, the Maria Aleyne, hunting the Urca, everything had been to try and implement Thomas’ ideas of a better world. The devotion almost overwhelmed Thomas, but he pushed it down by ignoring James at the edge of his vision, instead focusing on the people still at the table.

The silence that emerged from Thomas’ words wasn’t from the absence of speech, but the absence of anything. No one moved, no one opened their mouths, they all just stared at him, gears turning.

“You heard the man.” Eleanor said, her voice strained. “Get out.” Like actors at their cue they all rose, filing out the door with their eyes still focused on Thomas. He felt James behind him, his hand on Thomas’ back. Eleanor was the last to leave, looking not at Thomas but James.

“I trust you'll speak to me afterwards,” she whispered, eyes on where James’ hand met Thomas. Without another word she left, shutting the door firmly behind her. Thomas reached behind him and took James’ hand, leading him to one of the chairs and sitting him down.

Sometime since they had last seen each other, James had put his black leather coat back on, and he would have looked every bit the pirate if not for his awed face, mouth slightly open. Thomas drank in his lover’s face, realizing that this was the first time he had seen him in broad daylight without any people to judge his staring. Dark circles hung under James’ eyes and he could see light cuts on his hands and collarbone, signs of the fight from yesterday.

Thomas let go of James’ hand and sat in the chair next to him, turning it so they faced each other. He opened his arms, indicating he was waiting for James to speak. They each had their stories to share.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a strong believer in the idea that we never truly become someone else, that our past just lives inside us, like little matryoshka dolls. We call on them when we need to, but mostly we try to look ahead. For Thomas, James, and Miranda obviously they’ve gone through so much, so I didn’t think they’d be able to drop who they’ve become the second they reunite, but I also didn’t think that they’d never be McGraw or Lord and Lady again. 
> 
> I hope I made this position clear, now get ready for James to realize that in the next chapter, coming before the end of May. Please leave kudos and comments! i treasure all of them


	5. give them peace, even love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so when i thought of this fic for the first time (before i came up with an actual plot) i imagined it would be about 2000 words
> 
> ahaha

Maybe it was the fact that Thomas had thought of his father’s death many times, methodically running over each and every action, that James’ words could place him so vividly in the scene. James had begun speaking almost immediately after Thomas had sat down, shoving the words out of him like each one hurt to say, the sting of pulling another knife out of his back. Thomas wanted nothing more than to ease James’ pain but he knew that in this situation, the only way was to clear the wounds.

“When I set out to hunt the Maria Aleyne, I told myself that I thought it would bring me peace and I could let your ghost rest,” James said, staring at Thomas with a pleading look on his face. Their hands had met in the middle on the table and James was clutching Thomas’ between both of his. “Looking back at it, I was just so angry, and it was the only thing I had felt for so long. I wanted revenge, to be able to stop thinking about your father and how he got off free.

“After we had taken the ship, I went below decks, where I knew your father was hiding. The door was locked, so I busted it open. He and his mistress were on the other side of the room, pressed against the wall. I…” James trailed off.  
  


“Go on,” Thomas urged, turning his hand over and rubbing James’ palm with his thumb. He scooted his chair closer so they were knee-to-knee, and the contact was enough for James to continue.

“I walked in, and at first he didn’t recognize me,” James said. “My hair was shorter than he’d last seen it and it hung around my face, and I was already covered in blood from the battle just before. He started begging for mercy, saying that he’d give me all the money in the world, all the riches I could desire.”

James laughed once, a low and biting sound. “When I went farther into the room, something clicked in his mind. Maybe it was the look in my eyes or how I walked, or maybe it was just that I had stepped into the light, but he saw me for what I am. I’m not surprised he didn’t stop begging, knowing how easy he thought it was to trade a life away. It’d be convenient to say that I blacked out with fury but I didn’t, I was perfectly aware of everything. And so I killed him.”

The whole time he had been able to look Thomas in the eyes but at that last sentence, he was looking just over Thomas' shoulders, mind far away. If Thomas could guess, his mind was back on that room in the Maria Aleyne, and his fingers tightened under James’.

“I killed the mistress too, not wanting her to spread the story. Then I left the room, wiped the blood off my sword, and dealt with my men.”

Thomas had thought there would be more, an explanation of how he felt after the event, how he told Miranda. But James kept his mouth shut, teeth clenched tight. The silence in the room had thickened under the blood and gore of the story, like the room itself was listening with bated breath. Aware of how the lack of words could infect one’s mind, Thomas reached out and brushed his fingers along James’ jawline, causing the man to look back at him.

“Thank you for telling me that,” Thomas said, his voice soft and low. His eyes were fixated on James’, noticing how the fleck of yellow in his left iris turned golden in direct light.

“Why are you thanking me? Did you not just listen to what I’ve done?” James cried, grabbing Thomas’ hand and pulling it from his face. “My sins are innumerable, all beginning with the fact that I didn’t go back for you when I still could.” His tone was harsh, yet Thomas recognized that the fire wasn’t aimed at him but at Captain Flint. James turned his gaze to his shaking hands, resting in his lap, a hair’s breadth away from Thomas’ knee.

Thomas placed his hand back on James’ face, this time firmer, turning his jaw so his lover woul be forced to face him. “I refuse to punish you for your actions in those ten years. Everything you did to survive was just one more step that brought you back to me. How could I ever be angry at that man if he gave me you?”

The only warning Thomas had was the sound of a chair scraping across the floor before James was clutching him, head buried in Thomas’ neck. Dimly, Thomas knew that they had already had their reunion the day before, as well as hours of talking alone, but he felt like this was the first time he could truly reconnect with James, away from any and all expectations.

“I’ve missed you so much,” James murmured into Thomas’ shirt, his voice thick with tears.

“And I, you.”

Their angle was awkward, with Thomas still on his chair and James kneeling on the floor, so he lowered himself onto his knees with James. This room was not the most private place—he had already proven that with his eavesdropping—but he was confident that with Miranda out there, any words shared would remain solely between them.

The saying that tears were cleansing was something Thomas hasn’t understood in a long time, too accustomed to the misery and headaches they brought, but the meaning was clear in that moment. Each of James’ tears was another wall torn down, another bridge rebuilt. Thomas held James, left hand splayed against his back and the right cupped around his neck, letting himself be the armor James needed.

Wooden floors were not meant for kneeling, and Thomas’s knees interrupted his tender thoughts to remind him of that fact. In London, James and Thomas had done much more than just kneel on floors, but age was decreasing that likelihood by the day. When James’ quiet sobs reduced to the occasional tear, Thomas spoke up.

“My love, we do not have to get back in our chairs, but may we change positions? My knees are killing me.”

James pulled back, nodding and moving to wipe the tears off his face, but Thomas caught his hand his before he could. Thomas shifted his right hand from James’ neck to his cheek, removing the tear tracks with a stroke of his thumb. He kissed James’ forehead before looking at the chairs, noticing how structured they were, with their stiff arms and hard seats. Ignoring them, Thomas moved to a sitting position, leaning back against one of the chairs and pulling James into him, seating him between his legs. It was almost a mirror image of their positions when he woke so long ago this morning.

“You know, I’m not the same person you first met either. I may not have become a feared pirate captain, but the asylum and the plantation changed me as well,” Thomas said.

“How?” James asked. From any other man, it would have been a challenge, but Thomas knew that it was genuine curiosity, a desire to hear and be heard. Momentarily, Thomas was overwhelmed with gratitude that his past self had let himself be known to James and vice versa.

“Well, for one, I can’t stand England.” A huff of laughter interrupted him and Thomas glanced down while James looked up, his grin spread wide.

“I can understand that sentiment,” James explained.

“I’m sure you can.” Their faces were close together and for a moment, Thomas closed his eyes and abandoned his train of thought to lean in and kiss James. For once, James was the one who pulled back, making Thomas arch his eyebrow in inquiry.

“You were saying something,” James said.

“I can’t believe you were the one to stop a kiss when we’re alone.”

“I can’t believe you let a kiss distract you from your train of thought.”

“Well,” Thomas said, glancing around the room. “I was saying that people change. In the New World, I was constantly face-to-face with the evils of England itself, more than just what the system did to us in London. I’d hear stories about how the men treated the Natives, see the slaves working on the plantation. The colonization only allowed the wrongs of the Old World to take root and plant themselves deeper.”

He sighed, combing over the memories in his mind. His first days at the Savannah plantation had been confusing and disorientating, not yet hit by the horrors. Oglethorpe presented the place as akin to the Asphodel Meadows, but the whip marks the men bore told otherwise. The thought struck Thomas that he wasn’t being clear, and the panic that brought drove him to speech.

“Darling, I do want to clarify, just because I’ve changed doesn’t mean I was never that man. Our memories are real, even if we can no longer access them. I am both Lord Thomas Hamilton and just Thomas, they live inside me together. It’s all a matter of what I’m going to do with it.”

“Why are you telling me this?” James asked.

“Because I still believe that pirates are worthy of something better, that _you_ are worthy of something better. If Nassau’s current system isn’t working, then it is our duty to change it.”

With a sigh, James shifted so that he was lying down fully, his head pillowed on one of Thomas’ thighs. He took one of Thomas’ hands in his own and placed it on his chest, directly over his heart. Beneath his palm, Thomas could feel the steady beat, the one he’d sometimes catch himself straining to hear while falling asleep in Savannah beds.

“I’m tired, Thomas,” James said. The weariness in his voice took on the role of gravity, a force so strong it kept the whole world pinned to the ground. It spoke of tragedy, and Thomas pressed his hand down more, hoping it could alleviate the pain.

“My initial goals, they’ve twisted and morphed into some kind of monster,” James continued. “When I became the captain of the Walrus, I said I was doing this for the sake of your memory and I’d find peace as soon as I felt that was fulfilled, but I could never quite picture what that peace looked like. Here I am with you, existing in a way I thought lost to the past, and it is so hard to look ahead when I have built this life on violence.”

Lazily, James’ hand went to Thomas’ neck, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. Thomas caught his hand and kissed the knuckles, feeling the scars underneath his lips. The action was nostalgic, likely as comforting to James as it was to Thomas. The two had sat like that many times before, discussing books and politics and philosophy—whatever came to mind.

Despite the abundance of upper-class men on the plantation, Thomas hadn’t once truly engaged in spirited conversation, always stopping himself before he could go past the realm of meaningless chatter. The absence Thomas felt whenever he caught a snippet of lively debate or analysis would rip open all the wounds, an ache so deep he was sure it had invaded his bones. Thomas took a breath, pulling himself from those memories. The stray rays of light sparking James’ hair were the glaring sun, not the soft roar of a flickering fireplace.

“We don’t need to do anything big for the rest of our lives,” Thomas said, curling his fingers over James’ chest. “Miranda and I can help you leave your captaincy and we can retire, using the money from the Urca. I could open a book shop.”

He knew that it would be hard for him to sit back and watch injustices happen around him. Even as a lord, Thomas had never been one to remain still, constantly insisting that James would teach him everything hands-on so he could truly understand the problems of the world. Of course, that’s ignoring the fact that it had been a convenient excuse to spend more time with his lieutenant, but no one had to know that except Thomas (and Miranda). He would live the quiet life for James.

“You would not,” James said with a laugh, rolling his head over to look Thomas in the eyes. The heaviness was gone from his voice, replaced with an affectionate teasing. The utter adoration in James’ eyes stole the words from Thomas’ tongue, forcing him to take a second to gather his thoughts.

“I wouldn’t?”

“You’d hate it. You care too much, you always have. It is your best quality, Thomas. I can’t say I’ve always admired you for it, but it is what makes you _you_ , and so I love it along with the rest of you. I’m not going to make you live your life like that. I understand that you offered because you love me, and because I love you I'm saying this in return: if you want to help Nassau, I will be there with you every step of the way.”

The breath caught in Thomas’ throat as he returned his lover’s steady gaze. Every nerve was on high, each sensation amplified to the max. He had the uncanny feeling that the heartbeat pounding in his ears was not his own but James’, his mind focusing on the one thing that could give him strength.

“You’d do that with me?” he asked lamely. His tongue felt numb and awkward in his mouth, reduced to childish questions.

“Everybody needs a partner.”

If they had had more time, Thomas was sure they could have thought out a plan to rival any web the fates could weave, changing the world as it needed to be changed. But, as James was swift to remind him, they had a group of pirates right outside their door, and that group wasn’t known for their patience.

As they developed their plan, Thomas could feel his strength grow. He wasn’t a power-hungry man by any definition of the word, but he enjoyed it, knowing that his actions were his own and could impact others. The feeling of responsibility sobered him, it always had. On the cargo ship, when Gates had first knocked, Thomas had savored the momentary power it granted him, not realizing before how much he had missed it. The idea of getting to truly help once again was intoxicating to Thomas, and he found himself nearly giddy when James helped him up to go call Eleanor in.

Thomas crossed to the draperies as James went to open the door, letting the light shine into the room. The rays of sun illuminated all the dust hung in the air and he squinted, raising a hand to protect his eyes. When he turned, Eleanor was in the room, giving him a once-over.

“We haven’t properly met,” Thomas said, walking to her and holding out a hand. “My name is Thomas Hamilton.”

“Eleanor Guthrie,” she replied, reaching out and shaking. Her grip was just a bit too strong, moving up and down firmly. Thomas glanced over at James and saw him smirking, looking at their hands.

They sat down, James and Thomas taking the chairs next to each other, with Eleanor sitting across. Her eyes flitted between the two, focusing on the lack of space between them. Underneath the table, James placed a hand on Thomas’ knee, nodding at him once. Thomas relaxed, nodding back, and James turned to Eleanor, preparing his speech.

“Are you still willing to help Nassau? Even if I’m not the one getting the gold,” James said to begin. When they were forming their plan, James had mentioned how frantic he had been in his mission to get the gold, how Eleanor had shared the same sense of urgency.

“Of course,” she said dismissively. “I love this place. Flint, are you giving up piracy? Putting down your oar?”

Thomas recognized the reference, James and he had spent many evenings analyzing Homer’s works. When James had sailed for those infinite three months, the _Odyssey_ had been Thomas’ comfort work, the prose so vivid he could lose himself even as the clock ticked loudly behind him. _Three months, feels like twice as long._ It didn’t slip past him that by applying that same sentiment, James’ journey back to Thomas was the same length as Odysseus returning to Penelope.

“My name is James,” he corrected. “And yes, but I am not quitting or leaving Nassau. If you’ll listen to our plan, you’ll hear our ideas to help this place beyond the gold. I’m sure that held up to the sun you’d see right through it, but it is a foundation.” James motioned to Thomas, who cleared his throat.

Before they had agreed to talk to Eleanor, they had had a minor disagreement on who should present the plan. Thomas wanted it to be James because he had a relationship with Eleanor, but James was convinced it should be Thomas because it’d be a clean slate, with no prior actions to dirty the concept. They settled on an even split, meant to use their strengths to best persuade her. As he straightened up and lifted his hands, Thomas had the odd sensation that he was opening up, invoking Lord Thomas Hamilton as a priestess would invoke their god.

“We want to establish a system that doesn’t rely solely on piracy, so men that tire of it can still live a life without being forced to return to England,” Thomas explained, gesturing in the air as he did so. “Drawing from your and James’ initial plan, we’d put some of the Urca gold away, and give men the option to stay where they are, or earn a consistent liveable wage on more reputable trading ships. Alternatively, they could work in the fort, so it isn’t just one captain that has a tyrant’s grip on the fate of Nassau.”

“I was working on something similar myself,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “My father would be an issue, because he likes things the way they are, but I’m sure I could find some way to convince him. Tell me more.” 

“I’d give up my captaincy,” James said. “Suggest Gates and let the men vote on it. But England is coming, Miss Guthrie, make no mistake. I’d like to be Nassau’s military strategist, you know that was always what set me apart from the other captains. We’d work to train men and unite the captains so that when the time comes and England is knocking, we’re ready.”

Eleanor cocked her head at them, narrowing her eyes. “You really think our tiny island can defeat England?”

“I don’t know,” James said bluntly. “But just because the odds seem impossible doesn’t give us the right to sit back and let it happen. The world doesn’t change with one man but when each of us play a part, who is to say what can happen?”

James let his words ring in the air, soaking in her mind. Thomas had been looking at Eleanor the whole time, analyzing her body language to gauge her reception, but now he shifted his gaze to James. When they had first met, James had been steadfast in believing that the world would always stay the same and then they would die, but Thomas could see his own ideals in James’ speech. James grinned back at him, letting Thomas know that his word choice had been intentional.

“What’s in it for you?” Eleanor asked, interrupting their silent conversation. Her eyes were focused on Thomas, suspicion in them.

“I’d like to become your co-worker,” Thomas said. “The public speaker to convince people of the logic behind our plans. I’m no stranger with having a bad public image, but from what James has told me, people only pretend to follow you because they fear you. That is, forgive my literality, building a castle on top of sand. You need a sturdier foundation.”

She sighed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Let’s get this straight. You turn up on my island, your very presence convinces James to abandon plans he’s been working on for months, and now you claim that you want to help. I want to trust this plan, but first you need to give me a reason to trust you.”

Taking his hand off the armchair, Thomas glanced briefly to the ceiling, rubbing his palm on his temple before placing it on his leg, just over James’ hand.

“I could have been governor of this place once,” Thomas stated. “But the winds of my life shifted, and I ended up here before you. Some of England’s greatest evils have been done unto me, and yet I still work my hardest to believe that people are good at heart. If you don’t trust me now, I understand, but know that I will work until you do.”

Her chin rested on her hands, she regarded them with a fire in her eyes. This was a woman who felt everything to an extreme, determined to assert herself to the world. Thomas could understand why she and James felt a connection.

“Then you have a deal. I’m sure it will evolve as we implement it, but I’m satisfied for now.” Eleanor said. “We can drink to it, or we can call the rest of the men in and tell them that they’re getting the Urca.”

Thomas looked to James with an eyebrow raised, letting him decide. James tilted his head, his hands fidgeting on Thomas’ thigh.

“I’d love to see the look on Vane’s face when he sees you’ve sided with me,” James said, turning back to Eleanor. “I say call them in.”

Thomas laughed and James grinned back at him, devotion clear in his eyes. Lost in the moment, Thomas almost missed the sound of Eleanor’s chair scraping across the floor, and the squeaky hinges of the door as she opened it. With James’ hand in his, he knew this was a moment where they were hurtling forward into an unknown.

Thomas had never been more prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't even express how much i enjoyed writing this. i got to experiment with style, characterizations, a reason to wake in the morning during quarantine. i'm making no promises, but i have a gut feeling this will not be my last black sails work (my notes app currently filled with nine ideas is telling me that too). in the wise words of one Richard Siken, the man who inspired the last lines of this fic, "We are all going forward. None of us are going back."
> 
> anyways please comment i'm so thirsty for comments you don't understand


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